17.0106-1200 Lorraine asks Thalia to share fetish fantasies
@24.0911-1554.99 by Atx
Dear Marla,
This afternoon I was silently looking through some of the books in the Study, as I often did during my ample time off duty. James had gone into town to some lumber business function. Lorraine was working on her computer at her desk. She turned to me.
"Thalia, I wonder if I could ask you a deeply personal question. This is, in no way, connected to your employment here. I'm asking as me, not your boss, ok? You don't have to answer this. Are we clear?"
"OK, I understand. Sure, go ahead. Ask." I replied.
She looked a bit uncomfortable. "I told you that I was a house slave when I was young. I was kinky, even in my early years. Kink does not die with age, it matures. I've never really liked the feel of rubber against my skin, but I do love to look at it. And, in particular," her voice grew soft, "It somehow thrilled me to see Glenda and Robert 'suffer' in their rubber. When I saw sweat leaking out of their suits anywhere, I knew they were enjoying it..."
"Well," I replied, "I can vouch for 'suffer'. I've done crazy things like lock myself into my suit and mail the key to myself. I once remained locked in my suit for about 48 hours. It was nice, even 'delicious' during the 1st 24 hours but then my skin started to become scratchy and uncomfortable. I was done. I wanted out. However, there was something masochistically gratifying about the fultility of escape -- I had to endure it."
She looked at me quizzically. "Couldn't you use bolt cutters to cut the locks off or even cut the suit, itself, off?" She asked.
"Hah," I replied. "Keep in mind that this was all solo. I was alone that weekend. The padlock connected the zipper pulls of my suit and my hood at the back of my neck. Once locked, niether zipper could be opened. Pretty kool! I could not remove either garment. There's no way I could operate bolt cutters behind my back to cut the lock all alone. And, no, I was not about to cut a $300 suit to shreds -- that's reserved only for medical emergencies."
"So, what happened?" She asked.
"Oh," I replied. " I just had to deal with it. I mailed the key to myself on a Saturday noon with expected delivery back to me the following Monday. By evening my mind had mapped it and was now settling into the 'comfy zone' when it has accepted the latex as an exterior perceptive/protective apparatus. It's damp in the suit and, in some places, a bit more than damp. It felt great. I was one with my suit."
I paused, "But by early Sunday morning the 'itchy-scratchies' hit. My skin had enough of that punishment. I began to see early evidence of sores forming through the transparent latex by Sunday evening. Monday morning, five minutes after the mailman delivered the key, the suit was off and I was in a hot shower that preceded a long, soaking bath."
"Would you do it again?" Asked Lorraine.
"Something like that extreme is a matter of a particular mood that strikes me only now and then. It has also always been a matter of opportunity. I could only do stuff like that when I was living alone or when Frank was off on an extended business trip."
Lorraine suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable. "Thalia, I want to ask you something sensitive, but again, I want to stress that it's me asking, not your boss. I've talked it over with James and he is OK with it."
"OK, ask away!"
"I guess I'll just be blunt. Thalia. I've read most of your stories, so I think I have a sense of what turns you on. I wonder, would you include me in some of your fetish life? Maybe as a 'helper' of some kind." She giggled slightly. "Instead of the mail man, give your keys to me! I'll make sure you don't get out of the suit until you have suffered a bit! "
I was not expecting that. Wow! There has never been anyone else sharing my fetish. That's a lot to process! All I could manage at the moment was a weak "why?"
"Loving Schadenfreude!" She replied exhuberantly.
"What's that?" I asked.
"The Germans have some really kool words." She replied. "'Schadenfreude' means taking pleasure from someone else's pain or misfortune. The important thing to note is that I have parked the word 'loving' in front of it. That means *I'm loving your pain, but only because you are loving it, too*. It's the match between a sadist and a masochist. Loving schadenfreude!"
I was confused. "What are you saying?"
Lorraine smiled and said, "OK, I'll show you. Go lock yourself into your suit. Do it right now. Bring me the keys. I'll make sure you suffer some before I let you out." Then she winked at me wickedly.
I had to ask. "And how long would make me wear it?"
Lorraine made a "BBrrrrrnggg" sound that sounded like the buzzer for a wrong answer on a TV quiz show.
She rubbed her hands for a moment before replying playfully. "The first rule is that you never ask that question! How long you will remain locked in your suit is for me to know and you to find out. For the first infraction I add an hour to your planned incarceration. The 2nd time I'll add 2 hours, the 3rd time it's 3 hours and so on. Each time it gets exponentially worse. You won't find out how long until it's over. Ask me ten times and I'll just flush the key down the toilet so you'll never escape. So now, right now, you're already at *X* + 1 hour, slave."
I was dumbfounded! Holy shit! Someone other than me actually wants to lock myself in for '*X*' hours and watch me 'suffer'. Wow! But, somehow, the 'slave' word did not sit right.
"Are you serious about this, Lorraine, or are we just playing around?" I asked.
"That's the whole point, Thalia, this is all *play*. Children play. Adults play. I'm asking if you want to 'play rubber' with me -- just a little bit."
"That's interesting, but I think you should know that I cannot be *your* slave. I belong to Hevea." I told her.
"Who is Hevea?" Lorraine asked, somewhat dumbfounded. "I was not aware there is someone else in your life who you belong to. Who is Hevea, if I may ask?"
I giggled a bit. "Oh, when I was younger I started personifying my fetish as a metaphor. I call her Hevea, from *hevea braziliensis*, which is the botanical name for the commercial rubber tree."
"OH! That's amazing! I've never heard of a personified fetish. That's quite clever. How did you come up with that?"
I thought for a moment. "It was a gradual process. There was nothing intentional. At first I started referring to my fetish as 'Hevea' merely as a kind of mental short-hand. Then, later, I began to say things to myself like, 'Hevea would like this garment or want me to do that thing'. Now my relationship to her has become broader and more complex. Don't worry. I'm not psychotic. I still know she is not a real person. She is, quite literally, a figment of my imagination. "
"But, she tells you what to do, right?" asked Lorraine.
"Well, she doesn't really 'talk', per se. That is, she doesn't use language with words. Instead she mostly communicates with me in urges and fantasy dreams." I said.
James piped in. "Your Hevea sounds like a tulpa."
"A what?" I asked. "What is a tulpa? I've never heard of it before."
A playfully wicked glint came to her face. "Let's find out. Go lock yourself into your suit and hood. Then bring me the keys."
"Are you serious?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure. Let me know when things start to get uncomfortable. It won't affect how long before you're unlocked. I just want to get to the part where you suffer!" She said with a wicked grin on her face and a slight giggle in her voice.
Then, as an afterthought she added, "Seriously, Thalia, I honestly don't want to horn in on your show unless you think Hevea wants some human assistance in managing her schadenfreude. "
Twenty minutes later I was locked into my suit and hood. She hung the keys on a loop of string and tied it around her neck and ceremoniously tucked it down into her bra. "I've already added an additional hour to your incarceration because, just now, you looked like you were going to ask me when I will unlock you."
Then she winked and walked out of the room.
Wow! This place just keeps getting better and better!